


Chasing the Feeling

by assentodele, seths_dream



Series: Shia and Hawk are up to no good [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi is emotionally constipated but what else is new, Anal Fingering, Humiliation, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Non-Traditional Formatting, P5R Spoilers, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise, References to Character Death, archived RP, references to choking, set during ThirdSem, the rank 8 glove makes an appearance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assentodele/pseuds/assentodele, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seths_dream/pseuds/seths_dream
Summary: "Are you offering to punish me?" Akira said delicately, barely hoping to dare. The contempt in Akechi's voice was sending tingles down his spine and in the fingers he used to hold the phone. It felt like they were teetering on a tightrope, walking towards... something. It could snap at any moment, but it also gave him a thrill.Akira lived for thrills.Akechi licked his lips, genuinely at a loss for words. His libido and his better judgment were battling in the trenches with every second he stalled his inevitable reply, but neither were making any headway. On one hand, Kurusu was almost definitely fucking with him now, and part of him was pissed off in his own defense; on the other... God, what if hewasn't?What-fucking-if?
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Shia and Hawk are up to no good [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746649
Comments: 32
Kudos: 183





	Chasing the Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> This is an archived RP between riverofcausality (Goro) and seths_dream (Akira), taking place on 1/2 after the initial infiltration of Maruki's palace. Posts are broken up by line; if you have any suggestions for better formatting, feel free to let us know! Somehow we wrote 17k of basically nothing but porn, and we plan to expand on this more in the future. Tags will be added accordingly.
> 
> You can find riverofcausality over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jihopekookie) or [Tumblr](https://pleasant-boy-goro-akechi.tumblr.com/) and seths_dream is also on both [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sethsdream) and [Tumblr](https://gravityeyelids.tumblr.com/). We both love Goro and shuake a lot, so feel free to come yell with us!

Short questions and curt responses. Nothing frivolous.

Akechi would be lying to himself if he tried to pretend he didn't like speaking to Kurusu, even if their calls – especially since Maruki's reality had torn their lives apart – had been more businesslike as of late. The days of old when he'd shoot him a quick message after they spent time together were long gone now, and so much had changed. For one, hanging out with Kurusu was no longer about intel, even if their conversations often veered far off the beaten track and into... well, frankly _uncomfortable_ territory; for another, Akechi was still suspicious of his own circumstances, and something about pretending everything was fine to Kurusu left a terrible taste in his mouth. He might not be telling him anything outright, but avoiding the issue was certainly a step above lying, wasn't it?

He was going through the motions of conversation with him currently, all rehearsed scripts and stilted inquiries.

"Well, I'll reach out to you should anything come up," he said, his voice even. And then, added as an unfortunate afterthought: "Goodnight.”  
  


* * *

  
The conversation was over, Akira knew that—but something in him didn't want to let Akechi hang up.

"Wait," he said, and then realized he didn't know what to say after that. He didn't hear the click of the phone, so he knew Akechi was still on the line. But the only thing he could think to say was something incredibly dumb, something he should absolutely definitely _not_ _say_ to this new, vicious Goro Akechi—

Clearly his mouth didn't get the memo. "What is it that you're expecting to ah, _come up_ , Akechi?"

It was meant to be a joke. A dumb, flirtatious joke, the kind he and Ryuji would throw around at each other while eating popcorn and laughing at terrible old TV shows.

Akira's hands were sweating. Now was the moment when Akechi would hang up, he knew it. He fucked up; who knew if Akechi would be so offended he wouldn't want to work with Akira anymore—he braced himself for inevitable impact.  
  


* * *

**  
_What is it that you're expecting to ah,_ ** **come up,** **_Akechi?"  
_**

Oh, this was pitiful.  
  
Akechi wasn't stupid. Kurusu's words flagged immediately as an immature sex joke – "yes, 'come up', haha, how funny" – before the words even left his mouth, but damn if Akechi wasn't going to play the "book smart only" detective role for all it was worth—really make him _work_ for that poor excuse of a victory.

"Anything, really," he deadpanned, "Maruki may be giving us time to mull over his offer, but I suspect we might be underestimating him and his reach. You've freed your friends, but how far will this extend? How could this change what tomorrow looks like?"

He let a beat of silence interrupt his thoughts.

"You're all high school kids, but politicians? People who actually influence our day-to-day lives? What happens when Maruki's influence reaches people like that?"

And then, a bit darker:

"I wouldn't expect you to think that far ahead, of course, but politics in particular is a dirty game. No amount of bullshit fluff could fix the system overnight. We don't even know if Maruki's wish-granting capabilities are truly objective or not. Someone with his level of power can't go unchecked. We need to remain vigilant."

Maybe his spiel was overdoing it, but with every word, he hoped Kurusu was deflating on the other side—feeling absolutely childish and ridiculous.  
  


* * *

  
Akira snorted. He should've known Akechi would take any opportunity given to him to flaunt his smarts and rub Akira's nose in the dirt while he was at it. Akechi wasn't the type to hang up on dumb comments, clearly—he was the type to lash out until the _other_ person did so.

Akira had no intention of backing down from this conversation. He hummed noncommittally and sat on his bed, setting his glasses to the side and using one hand to tug off his socks to start getting ready for bed. "We know he isn't going to change anything tomorrow. He's an enigma right now, sure, but I feel like we can take him at his word. He _wants_ us to come to an understanding with him."

He wasn't able to resist needling Akechi back, just a little. "I wouldn't expect you to look at that this closely, though. After all, you're all about thinking ahead, not living in the moment." He sighed and settled himself further on the bed, leaning back on one hand lazily. "Come on, Akechi. Live in the moment. Tell me something that doesn't have to do with tomorrow, or the Palace, or Maruki." He let his voice drop lower, just because he could. "You can surprise me, can't you?"

Akira wasn't sure what he was getting himself into, but hell if he wasn't having fun with it. Trying to get Akechi riled up was a better night than his original plan of reviewing study materials and then sleeping. After all the uncertainty that'd been going on, Akira was raring for... something. A fight, an argument—something with _passion_ , something that felt real in this bizarre dream world.  
  


* * *

**  
_"We know he isn't going to change anything tomorrow. He's an enigma right now, sure, but I feel like we can take him at his word. He_ ** **wants** **_us to come to an understanding with him."_ **

_And you'd know all about that since you share the same taste for misguided martyrdom, wouldn't you, Kurusu?_

Ah, but that was too callous, wasn't it? It was late, and truthfully, he wasn't in the mood for an argument.

**_"I wouldn't expect you to look at that this closely, though. After all, you're all about thinking ahead, not living in the moment."_ **

He heard, or rather _felt_ , Kurusu sigh on the other end of the line, and for some reason, the sound irritated him. He clenched his jaw, staring at nothing in particular as he got lost in a short train of thought that began and ended with Kurusu's penchant for overstepping boundaries.

**_"Come on, Akechi. Live in the moment. Tell me something that doesn't have to do with tomorrow, or the Palace, or Maruki. You can surprise me, can't you?"_ **

"You're _really_ itching for mundane conversation, aren't you?" Akechi asked, his tone derisive, "Leave it to you to be so cavalier in the middle of what others might call an apocalypse."

Akechi peeled his coat off and slowly undressed himself, trying to conjure up an atmosphere to match the sound of his voice.

"As for your 'surprise'..." he lilted, his voice dripping with honey, "Do be sure to tell me how you liked it."

And then, without preamble, he ended the call, dropping his phone to the mattress and falling back on it himself, his hair fanning out behind him.

Kurusu was exhausting. Really, _truly_ exhausting. He felt it in his bones the same way he felt particularly long grinds in Mementos.

He also suspected that he'd be hearing his voice again soon enough. His eyes flitted back to his phone, discarded and (so far) surprisingly silent.  
  


* * *

  
Akira sat on his bed, stunned, as the dial tone rang out in his ear. _Did he just fucking HANG UP on me?_ He wasn't sure if he was annoyed or if he wanted to burst into laughter. So much for Akechi not being the type to hang up on someone. He deserved it, honestly, for assuming _anything_ about Akechi. He was hard to pin down—but not impossible, even though Akira _knew_ Akechi thought he was.

"Fuck that," he breathed, holding his phone back up to his ear and listening to the muted ringing. He wasn't going to leave it at that, not on Akechi's terms. There was no way Akechi was going to pick up, right? But hell if he could leave Akira hanging after that. The way his voice had sounded, right at the end there... was he _flirting?_ Akira couldn’t just let it slide.  
  


* * *

  
Oh, and there it was.

Akechi scooped his phone back up, looking at Kurusu's contact photo—his mugshot, of all things. Not the prettiest picture to have saved to his phone, but it wasn't like he was going to ask _Kurusu_ for a replacement. Fuck no.

"That was awfully quick," Akechi said, his voice airy, "Miss me already, Joker? I'd almost be flattered if we didn't have a million other, more productive things we could both be doing with our evenings right now, but unfortunately, we do. I'm not interested in playing these games with you all night."  
  


* * *

  
Akira hadn’t entirely expected him to pick up, but he tried not to let his surprise show in his voice. "I'm not here to play games with you," he said immediately, and then paused. Why _was_ he calling Akechi? What was he trying to get out of this?

All he knew was he wanted to hear more of that voice, that same voice that had murmured "do be sure to tell me how you liked it..." into his ear before hanging up cold. Hot and cold, inviting and dismissive. Akira couldn't help but want _more_ of Akechi.

A half dozen responses flitted through his brain.

 _of course I missed you._ _  
_ _you've been gone_ _  
_ _I want to hear your voice_ _  
_ _talk to me_ _  
_ _just stay with me_

He settled on something less likely to actually have Akechi rip his heart out and stomp on it. "What more productive thing were you hoping to do at, ah—" he checked his phone screen briefly—"10:30 PM at night? Am I keeping you away from something? I'm not the one playing games, here." He took a breath. "I told you what I want already. Surprise me. And not by hanging up on me, Akechi."  
  


* * *

  
... Hmm. Interesting.

He mind drifted to a simpler time – well, somewhat simpler – when he could feed trite, bullshit lines like, "oh, you know, crime never sleeps!" to people and they'd just lap it up like thirsty dogs. He found himself a little pathetic for having only one response under his belt.

Kurusu was right. He supposed he didn't have anything better to do other than sleep. Not, he could argue, that sleep wasn't important.

Check.

His sigh was world-weary; he packed as much contempt into it as he possibly could without sounding comical.

"You're a glutton for punishment."  
  


* * *

  
"Are you offering to punish me?" Akira said delicately, barely hoping to dare. The contempt in Akechi's voice was sending tingles down his spine and in the fingers he used to hold the phone. It felt like they were teetering on a tightrope, walking towards... something. It could snap at any moment, but it also gave him a _thrill_.

Akira _lived_ for thrills.

"I think I'd allow it if you wanted to," he dared to say, then, swallowing roughly. He realized the room had gone from chilly to verging on too-warm, and he tugged off his coat with a loud rustle to toss over the end of the bed. He usually preferred to keep his room neater, but suddenly the thought of leaving his bed was incredibly unappealing.

He didn't know what he was getting into, but like hell did he want to stop.  
  


* * *

**  
_"Are you offering to punish me?"_ **

The sudden tonal shift nearly made Akechi choke, but he kept it together.

_Jesus Christ._

There were too many images and suddenly, not enough action. But this was dangerous, wasn't it? And God, what if Kurusu was actually _serious?_

**_"I think I'd allow it if you wanted to."_ **

Akechi licked his lips, genuinely at a loss for words. His libido and his better judgment were battling in the trenches with every second he stalled his inevitable reply, but neither were making any headway. On one hand, Kurusu was almost _definitely_ fucking with him now, and part of him was pissed off in his own defense; on the other... God, what if he _wasn't?_ What-fucking-if?

"Is this your way of telling me that our little ploy to get you beaten up down in that interrogation room actually, in a perverse twist of fate, helped you get your rocks off?" Akechi tested, his voice purposefully detached, "You really should've just said so before you got dear old dad arrested, Kurusu. I'm sure he could've arranged for another round of Russian roulette."

He hummed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and feeling the chilly air of the apartment ghost his skin.

"What a sick little fuck you turned out to be.”  
  


* * *

  
Akira felt like he was on a fucking _rollercoaster_ of emotions right now. There was hurt and almost anger at Akechi bringing up the interrogation room and faux-threatening him with his father—he would've been really, _actually_ angry if he didn't know Akechi's game here.

To think that Akechi said he didn't want to play games. Add another lie to the list.

Akira could almost swear he heard the rustling of fabric on the other end, and his imagination went wild. Yeah, so maybe he wasn't angry. Not quite that. And then... **_what a sick little fuck you turned out to be_**.

Akira gasped out and was gone.

It was like his mind was wiped clean at the words. He wasn't a person anymore, he was a ball of pure need and Akechi's _words_ dripped along his body like heated honey. He couldn't stifle a muffled whimper and he clenched his hands on the stiff fabric of his jeans.

"Just for you," he whispered. He didn't even think the words—he just heard them come from his lips. He wasn’t thinking anymore. All he could do was feel this dizzying arousal, just from one simple sentence. Akechi held the strings now—how did Akira think he could be the one on top here?

Maybe he hadn't wanted to be the one on top from the start.

"Tell me," he said, shakily. "Tell me again. Make me... make me hurt."  
  


* * *

  
A sharp intake of air came through the line and went straight to Akechi's groin.

He _was_ serious. Holy shit.

He decided to leave the button-down on, feeling the crisp fabric and deciding that it might provide a little extra stimulation. He unbuttoned his pants instead, exhaling.

They were really doing this. What the _fuck_ was wrong with them?

**_"Just for you."_ **

"Just for me, hmm?" Akechi purred, palming himself agonizingly lightly, "Funny. I seem to recall telling you that I wanted an equal, not a _needy fucking whore..._ You really don't listen well, despite your claim to fame in all of your friendships."

Akechi grinned, thinking back to the night he asked Kurusu to abandon his teammates and he said _he'd consider it._ What a joke.

"Or maybe they just don't know you like I do."  
  


* * *

**  
_A needy fucking whore._ **

_That's what I am._

Akira couldn't stop himself from gasping and clutching the phone harder. His cock _pulsed_ in his pants, instantly hard, and he felt a rush of dizziness from the lack of blood in his brain.

He pinched the phone between his shoulder and ear because he had to have his hands free to scramble and get his pants open _right now_ , he couldn't wait a second longer, he was so hard it _ached_ against his zipper. The sound he made at the relief of his open pants was verging on desperate, and he’d barely gotten started.

"Akechi," he said, unable to stop a hand from sliding into his underwear and pressing, right there, right against the spot he needed it. His head lolled to the side and he sighed low. "Akechi," he said again, trying to focus so he could talk to him. "I'm. I want you. I _want_ you. Please."

With a frustrated noise, Akira let the phone drop to his chest so he could use both hands to tug his pants and underwear off all the way, flinging them off to god-knew-where, then stripping his shirt without a second thought. The attic air was cool, but his skin felt like it was burning.

He was panting by the time he brought the phone back up to his ear. His hand hovered near his cock, arched elegantly up to his stomach, and then he hesitated. "Can I touch myself?" More than anything, he wanted Akechi to say yes.

More than anything, even _more_ than that, he wanted Akechi to make him grovel, first.  
  


* * *

**  
_"Akechi."_ **

He repeated it over and over again, like a mantra. Akechi was trying not to escalate things too quickly, but if he didn't try to match Kurusu's pace, he'd probably come all over himself before Akechi could really lay into him. And wouldn't _that_ be unfortunate?

With only a second's hesitation, Akechi rolled his pants lower, kicking them off once they were at his ankles. A nice, wet trail of precum tapered down the front of his boxers, annoyingly prominent. He rolled his palm over it, the dampness transferring from cloth to skin, and let a breathy sigh tumble from his lips:

"Akira..."

His voice was sweeter than intended, but he could play that to his advantage. Kurusu's given name felt foreign on his tongue, but poetic to say—like his last name was only there as a placeholder, and after all this time, Akechi had accidentally stumbled upon the truth. It felt _right._

**_"Can I touch myself?"_ **

Akechi tilted his head toward the phone, his gaze lidded. He felt so damn thick under his hand, and nothing had even happened yet. Ridiculous. _Virginal._

But the shame only edged him forward. 

"I don't know," he drawled, slipping a hand beneath his underwear and sighing contentedly, "I've told you what you are, but you haven't told me a single thing about yourself. Aren't these sort of things based on mutual exchange? Go on, _Akira."_

He pushed his thumb over the tip of his cock on the uptake, earning an extra ounce of strain when he spoke his name.

"Tell me what you are. Lay it all out for me. Don't even _breathe_ near your cock until then."  
  


* * *

  
The way Akechi said Akira's name—his _first_ name, like they were on an intimate basis—sent shivers up his spine and then right back down, right to his cock in a pulse of lust.

He wanted to touch so badly. It ached. But—but Akechi said no. And more than he wanted to touch himself, he wanted to please.

 _Mutual exchange._ Akira tried to regulate his breathing, tried to think through the fog in his mind. It bewildered him how Akechi got him to this space so quickly. He didn't even know how to categorize what he was feeling—it was like everything was falling into place, just right.

"I'm." Akira whimpered, _embarrassingly_ , squirmed. He'd never felt like this, so... vulnerable, yet lascivious. He wanted to display every bit of himself to Akechi and let him take his pick.

He swallowed again and forced his hands to fist in the sheets at his sides as his cock throbbed again as he decided what he had to say. "I'm yours. Akechi. G-Goro? Can I... Goro, I'm yours. I'm your sl—" Akira stopped. He couldn't force the words out, the words he knew he had to say. For a second he considered waiting for Akechi to force them out of him, but he felt a greater thrill at surprising Akechi with his obedience. "I'm your slut," he said, humiliation washing over him. He trembled as he continued. "I'm yours to use. I want... you to use me. Please, let me touch myself. Please let me... touch you."  
  


* * *

  
Oh, was that stuttering? It'd almost be cute if Akechi's gut instinct wasn't to push him _harder_ in response—drag him to the nearest proverbial cliff and dangle him over it.

"Didn't I _just_ say that I didn't want a whore?"

He trained his voice toward anger, reining it in just enough to let Akira know they were still playing the game.

"But you can't help that, can you? Because that's just the way you are. Ever since the day we met, too, am I right?"

Another exhale, intentionally released at just the right moment for effect.

"You remember the TV station, don't you? Who would've thought that stuck-up little prick in the audience, the one who had such a _defiant_ glint in his eye, would be here, months later, begging his would-be murderer to touch himself?"

Akechi smirked.

"And let me guess, too: you want me to fuck you. Isn't that right, _Akira?"_

Akechi pushed his boxers down, fully exposing himself, and was surprised to see just how wet he was. He ran a finger over the precum at the tip, heard it make a soft, lewd noise. His cock jumped under his hand.

"Tell me what you would've done for me back then. What you'd do for me _now._ If you think you can manage that, go wild—touch yourself."  
  


* * *

  
Akira hadn't dared to consider it before, but now that Akechi said it, all he could hear were those words dripping from his lips. **_You want me to fuck you. Isn't that right?_ **

He wet his lips nervously with his tongue and had to clutch at his thigh now rather than the sheets—he needed the touch of skin on skin like he needed breath in his lungs. "Back then... at the station." He could tell the truth—that he'd thought the prissy detective on stage thought he was funnier than he was, but was at least damn cute and had kissable lips—but he wanted to play into the game, make it something filthy.

He realized, though, that he wasn't really lying when he said, "I wanted to drop to my knees, right then and there, in front of the cameras. I wanted to take you apart. I wanted to see you lose control." A thrill ran through his body as he remembered exactly how he'd felt that day, the way he'd pushed those fantasies to the back of his mind and locked them up.

He'd certainly seen Akechi lose control of himself by now, and not in the ways he was thinking of back then. He’d seen it in ways that were more terrifying than sexy. 

"And what I'd do for you now..." _Anything you'll let me do,_ he wanted to say, but he knew Akechi wanted real answers. He summoned up a breath along with his courage. "I want you here. I want you to use my body... to use my mouth, m-my... my ass, if you want it." His face felt scorching hot at the words and he slid down on the bed and almost whimpered with the need to touch himself. "I want to make you feel good. Better than you've ever felt. I want to be good for you, please, Goro. I'd... I'd do anything for you right now."

He couldn't even spare a thought to feel trepidation at those words. Just saying them shot heat through his every nerve, and the thought that those words might be doing the same thing to Akechi... he moaned outright. Was he hard for him? Did he want him as much as Akira did?  
  


* * *

**  
_"I wanted to see you lose control._ **

"Oh, the Phantom Thieves' dear, debauched _leader,_ " Akechi growled out once Akira had finished his needy diatribe, "You wanted to see me 'lose control'? You were doomed from the start."

Akechi tilted his head with a light laugh.

"It was never about the intellectual sparring, either, was it? No... you just saw me and couldn't control the insatiable desire to have me bend you over in that filthy hovel of an attic."

He gave his cock a particularly tight tug, twisting on the uptake for new friction. He made a soft noise despite himself.

_Shit._

"I want you to feel yourself," Akechi said, recovering, "I want you to touch yourself in a way you think is worthy of me. No desperate, quick handies to push you over the edge. Imagine I'm there. Really _take your time."_

He imagined sliding languorously along the cleft of Akira's ass after he'd worked him open, watching him pucker in anticipation.

"You were _made_ to be taken down a notch—meant to grovel at my feet and beg me for every little ounce of affection I give you. You're nothing more than a kicked dog in heat, jumping at the leg of the first man who gives you attention. Tell me, did you think about this with Sakamoto? Kitagawa?"

Neither were here to protest the lack of formality, and even if they were, Akechi might've just invited them to watch. Humiliation was always more enticing with a few spectators.  
  


* * *

  
Akira froze as he heard Akechi make... was that a _moan?_ The soft sound of it made his cock twitch impossibly harder, and he whimpered in response.

**_Imagine I'm there. Really take your time._ **

"Fuck," Akira whispered. He gripped his cock, _finally_ , forced his fist to stay loose and teasing. His hips arched upwards as he listened to Akechi murmur dirty, _filthy_ things. Each syllable made heat pulse through him until he was shaking with the barest hint of his own touch. He couldn't have torn the phone away from his ear if his life depended on it. 

"I," he gasped, speeding up his hand before he realized what he was doing and made himself slow again. "Just you. I only want you. Only want this with you." He realized, with a start, that this was true. He could never feel this need to be _taken apart_ by anyone else.

"Please, I need to go faster," he begged, releasing his cock to try and maintain some sense of control. He rubbed at his nipples instead and let his head fall back onto the pillow with a breathy sigh. "I want you here," he whispered. He let his hand trail back down, down his trembling stomach and along his hips. He ran an experimental nail against the thin skin there and jolted at the sensation. He couldn't help but imagine Akechi doing this, _hurting_ him.

"I want you here, hurting me," he admitted in a rush.  
  


* * *

  
Akechi hoped he didn't mean literally. His apartment was more than a few stops away by train. He turned to face the wall behind his bed and pressed his forehead against it, reveling in the dull pain. Kurusu wasn't the only one who liked being hurt, but that wasn't important right now.

Akechi drew his knees up beneath him, his cock bobbing freely, and tucked his hair behind his ears. His eyes darted to something discarded beside the bed, and the smoldering heat in his abdomen coiled deliciously.

"Nonsense like this is going to be as far as we get. That's non-negotiable," he said, his voice low and solemn, "But I have an idea. _If_ you're not just feeding me bullshit."

He rolled his hips into his hand, keeping his grasp loose and barely-there so they could milk this moment for all it was worth.

"You have it still, don't you? From Shibuya?"

He leaned over and extracted the single glove from the floor, taking a moment to flex his fingers before returning the cool leather to the base of his cock.

_Fuck._

"Surely I don't need to spell it out for you."  
  


* * *

_  
From... Shibuya?  
  
_ For a moment Akira was confused, and then it clicked. _Oh._

"I carry it with me everywhere," he admitted, embarrassed. Shit, now he had to get up and find wherever he'd thrown his pants off to.

"I have it," he said as he climbed back into bed. He stretched out his legs and ran his fingers over the soft leather. Akechi's glove... the way he'd thrown it at him had _thrilled_ him. "Can I put it on?"

He thought he knew where Akechi was going with this, and he squirmed again on the bed. Akechi had worn this glove... maybe he touched himself with his gloves on, maybe he thought about Akira when he did—maybe, when he'd thrown it at Akira, he'd imagined Akira slipping it on before stroking himself slow, so slow…  
  


* * *

**  
_"I carry it with me everywhere."_ **

"You're ridiculous," Akechi said, his lip quirking.

_You know, Kurusu, maybe we could've actually done something about this, once upon a time..._

Don't say that. He couldn't find out, and as much as he was babbling, he was _far_ too smart to let a line like that go unscrutinized. Turn the thought into something useful.

"You should've outed yourself as the depraved bastard you are months ago," he finally said, hearing him return, "Maybe we could've gotten a jump on this before your obsession with me got so out of control."

And then Kurusu asked if he could put the glove on.

_No, dumbass, I wanted you to choke on it._

_There_ was an image.

"I guess I need to spell it out for you after all," Akechi said, his tone razor-sharp now—part irritation, part arousal, " _Yes_ , Kurusu. Put it on. Touch yourself. Think about my hands on you, touching you... feeling the weight of your cock, dragging my fingers from base to tip..."

He trailed off. Gave him a moment.

"Are you wet? Tell me how wet you are."  
  


* * *

**  
_"Maybe we could've gotten a jump on this before your obsession with me got so out of control.”_ **

Akira almost snorted at that. _Not likely... considering how enamored I was with you from the start._

The break in conversation while he'd retrieved the glove had taken away some of the fuzzy, glowing feeling he'd been immersed in, but when Akechi started telling him exactly what to do, _instructing_ him on how to touch himself...

He sank right back down to where he was.

He listened to every word. He hissed as he wrapped his hand around his cock again and squeezed his eyes shut to help bring the imagery of Akechi over him, taunting him, pinning him into place with just his eyes and words and the threat of more.

Every stroke felt magnified—the supple leather of the glove helped with the fantasy, and he imagined he could _smell_ Akechi on the glove. Even moving slowly, he got worked up embarrassingly quickly. A pearl of precome shimmered on the tip of his cock and he swiped at it, taking a moment to admire the shine on black leather. He wanted to suck it into his mouth, taste leather and salt and musk—but more than that, he wanted to obey.

**_“Are you wet?”_ **

Another pulse of precome wet the tip of his cock at the words and Akira _moaned_ , twisting on the sheets. "Y-yeah. Goro, I'm so fucking wet for you." Even as he spoke, he spread the wetness down his cock with his gloved hand. "It feels so—" his voice broke on a moan. "You feel so fucking good, I _need_ you inside me."  
  


* * *

  
Akechi hummed, giving himself a few lazy tugs with his gloved hand.

_This is what Kurusu's feeling right now._

"The more you say shit like that, the more I wish I could be..." he said, aiming for sultry and landing somewhere closer to wistful, "Could really teach you what a good fuck feels like."

The slide of crisp, shining leather against sensitive skin was so, _so_ good. His hips stuttered into the motion, the angle at which he was gazing down at his cock making him think of what facefucking Kurusu would be like. Was he the type to make sensual eye contact, or did he like to focus on his handiwork?

"Have you ever blown anyone before?" Akechi asked, "I'm imagining your mouth on me right now. The prettiest hole I've ever seen, all stretched around me... Keep your gloved hand on yourself. You're going to use your other one and suck on your fingers, pretend it's me. I want you to feel the weight of my cock on your tongue, chase the feeling of being full, and move your hand _slowly_..."

He thought about fisting Kurusu's hair, keeping his hot mouth rooted to him.

"There's nothing else around you right now. Nothing else matters. I'm your beginning and your end, and I'm the only one you can see... the only one you can feel, taste, _smell..._ "

And then a small laugh, something dark taking hold of him. He stroked himself a little faster, his body arching into the feeling.

"Every single goddamn piece of you is _mine._ "  
  


* * *

**  
_"Have you ever blown anyone before?_ **

Akira listened to Akechi's words and keened, arching upwards into his hand at how the word " _cock_ " slipped through Akechi's lips like silk. He wanted to answer Akechi, but also wanted him to keep talking—every word slid velvet heat through his very bones.

And Akechi was thinking of him... thinking of his mouth. He called it _pretty_. Akira groaned and tightened his hand just a little. "I've done it before," he admitted, "but never wanted it as much as I do with you. I want to taste you so bad, Goro... I want your cock, you can use me however you please." Another drop of precome joined the slide of his gloved hand at the words.

He whimpered then, because if he had to use both hands he'd have to drop the phone. He was a little nervous to set it on speakerphone just in case, but he only hesitated for a second before placing the phone next to his pillow. All he cared about right now was Akechi.

He slid two bare fingers into his lips, made sure to play up the wet sucking noises and shivered at the thought of affecting Akechi the same way he was being affected. "Want this to be your cock," he mumbled around his fingers before sucking them back down, as deep as he could. He tried to imagine they were Akechi's and it worked partially—but working his tongue along his own fingers left a deeper longing in him.

He kept up stroking with his other hand, listening to every word Akechi graced him with, and then—

**_"Every single goddamn piece of you is mine."_ **

That was it, he was done for. He could feel himself cresting the edge and cried out in warning. He didn't want to come, he wasn't ready, Akechi hadn't _given him permission_ —he tightened his fingers at the base of his cock and just barely staved off the inevitable, panting.  
  


* * *

  
"Don't you fucking _dare,"_ Akechi said through gritted teeth, his heart pounding, "You want to be fucked up by me so badly? Exert some goddamn self-control and hold it in. Even pathetic little cum sluts like _you_ can learn to cross their legs." 

He swept a few strands of hair out of his face, the movement sharp and careless. He couldn't tell how much was genuine anger and how much was affectation anymore, but his cock was leaking all over his gloved fingers, the leather glistening. His balls were sticky now, too. He felt small in his own skin.

"You don't come until I say you do. Understand me?"  
  


* * *

  
Akira fought to catch his breath and pulled his hand away from his cock in fear of disobeying. He almost wanted to cry—from wanting to come, from disappointment in almost coming, from Akechi's deliciously harsh words, from _need_ —

"Yes, sir," he gasped out before he could even think about the words. He'd say anything right now to be allowed to come, and pleasing Akechi was the prerequisite for that. Though the way Akechi was speaking to him right now... it got him even hotter.

It gave him a terrible, _terrible_ idea.

"What if I do?" His heart thrummed through his body and every nerve stood on end. He realized, at once, that he was afraid. The fear felt... good. It heightened his arousal, and he both wanted to fall at Akechi's feet and run the other way.  
  


* * *

**  
_"What if I do?"_ **

_I'll eat you alive._

"I'll drag you by the hair into Mementos, track down a Mara, use Call of Chaos on it, and watch it slowly rip you apart from the inside out. Is _that_ you wanted to hear?" Akechi tried not to let his mind veer off too far in that direction. "Or did you want me to say I'd come to Yongen and personally make your night a living hell?"

He moved the gloved hand from his cock to his chest, needing more stimulation _._ His other hand quickly replaced it, precum-glazed leather swiping over sensitive nipples.

What he wouldn't have given for it to be Kurusu's instead. Oh well.

"Truth be told, I don't think you're entirely worth the _effort_. I think we'll keep this as impersonal as possible. If you want to be a rebellious little dipshit, see where it gets you. I'm no stranger to hanging up on you and I'd be more than happy to leave you to your own devices. I'm sure some amateur porn filmed on a flip-phone camera would be more than enough to get a grovelling little _child_ like you off, no problem."

He dug a nail into the sweet spot below his cockhead, his thighs spasming.

"As usual, a waste of my time and energy."

He wondered what he looked like right now. Probably an absolute disaster.  
  


* * *

  
Akira had known whatever Akechi would say would make him regret everything, but _hearing_ it was another thing. The words were like a punch to the gut, and for a heartbeat he felt _afraid._ His cock didn't seem to get the memo—he was still clinging just barely off the edge, and his dick seemed hard-wired to Akechi's voice. It was shameful. Debasing. Exciting. The thought of Akechi coming down to Leblanc and fucking Akira up was hotter than it should've been.

"Please don't hang up," Akira found himself begging pathetically. He managed to bite back the next words— _don't leave me_ — and tried again. "I can be good for you, I promise." His lips felt dry and he licked them. "Please. How can I make it up to you?" He couldn't help himself and let his hand drift back to his cock. He used just two fingers, rubbing the soft leather up and down his length and stroking slow slick circles around the head.

The sides of his face felt damp, and he wasn't sure if it was from sweat or tears. Maybe both. He wanted Akechi there to lick the salt from his skin. He wanted to taste the salt from _Akechi's_ skin, to have him put one knee on either side of Akira's face and stuff him full of cock until he could do nothing but gag and try to hold on.  
  


* * *

  
"'Make it up to me'? You've lost that privilege, I think," Akechi said, somewhere between casual and ravenous. "What you're _going_ to do is move your hands far away from your cock and listen to me. _Every word."_

He readjusted, laying flat on his back and rolling his hips into his hand—just enough to keep him close to the edge.

"Are you able to turn your camera on?"

Dangerous territory. Dangerous, dangerous, _dangerous._ Voices were just that—voices. They could wake up tomorrow and pretend it had been some other person, or the result of a very visceral wet dream. Actually _seeing_ Kurusu, wrecked and pliant in real-time, made this little escapade more real.  
  


* * *

  
Akira's first reaction was pure heat. Akechi, _watching_ him do obscene things, watching the effect his commands had on him. He struggled to fight through the haze of lust and think about this rationally. Video was a bad idea. It was... It...

Fuck it, he couldn't bring himself to refuse. Fuck consequences at this point.

He was nothing if not a bit of a show-off.

"Yeah, I can do that," he said. "Will you... will you be on video, too?" He tried to hide the excitement in his voice. Seeing Akechi's reactions to his body... just the thought made his mouth curve into a small, secret smile. _Add exhibitionism to my list of kinks, I suppose.  
  
_

* * *

**  
_"Will you... will you be on video, too?"_ **

He'd originally planned to be, but the question gave him pause. He liked the idea of a one-way mirror, of sorts—seeing Kurusu fall apart and him getting nothing in return. Well, maybe not _nothing,_ but less than Akechi knew he wanted.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you...?" he murmured, more than asked, "You've been kind of a wretched partner tonight, Akira, I hope you know that. _Terribly_ behaved; you really don't deserve it."

He made a show of his deliberation, purring.

 _"But_... I suppose if I must, I can throw a greedy dog a bone. Consider it an act of charity for agreeing to work with me."

Not as if he had much of a choice at the time, but Akechi had a reputation to uphold.

"I'm not going to touch myself unless you put on a good show for me. I'm just going to talk, and you're going to listen."

He intentionally added a note of lighthearted amusement to his voice.

"Just like old times at Leblanc," he cooed, "Easy."

He licked his lips.

"Turn it on."  
  


* * *

**  
_"You've been kind of a wretched partner tonight_ **"

The wave of shame that flooded Akira surprised him. He felt so much need to be _good_ , to make Akechi purr in pride and pleasure rather than in deliberation.

The shame felt good though, sent sparks through him, and that—that just made the shame compound, leading to more pleasure, and Akira spiraled back to that place of pure carnal energy.

Akechi wanted him to put on a show. Akechi wanted to _touch himself_ while watching Akira... if Akira could put on a good show. Which wasn't something Akira was worried about.

He was a _really_ good show-off.

"Yes," he sighed into the phone, then turned on video. He spent a moment trying to position the camera at a good angle—if his face was in frame, his body wasn't at the right angle, and vice versa. It took an endless minute, but after some fumbling he was moderately satisfied.

His erection had flagged a little, but he wrapped his hand around it anyway, feeling it fatten and lengthen in his fist. He licked his lower lip and then bit it, looking straight into the camera as he fisted harder and _groaned_ through his teeth.

"Good enough for you?" He tried to sound coy, but his voice came out breathless. He tossed sweaty curls out of his eyes.  
  


* * *

  
Akechi had to keep himself disciplined. Before, the only thing Akira had access to was his voice... _Now—_

 _"Fuck_ , Kurusu..." Akechi groaned, saying his last name in the heat of the moment, "I don't know if I'm proud of myself for doing this to you or if I'm disappointed it only took _this much_ to get you looking like the unfortunate victim of a cheap whore."

The comment was directed primarily at his hair, but he looked thoroughly fucked out and they hadn't even gotten to the best part; or maybe Akechi was just weak for Kurusu in the same way he was weak for him, so every dusting of color seemed more like a dark flush, the sheen of sweat on Kurusu's skin more brilliant because it was for _him_ and nobody else.

_God._

He reached for a hair tie on his makeshift nightstand and tangled his hair into a ponytail, a few strands missing their mark; it was for function, not beauty.

He pulled his boxers back up, pretending he hadn't been jerking himself off for the past several minutes, and twisted his shirt back into a position resembling normalcy.

"Getting comfortable. This bed isn't made for much other than shielding you from the floor."

He left it unbuttoned and laid on his side, bunching a blanket underneath his chin for support. Kurusu would still have a good angle on every part of him that mattered. He turned on his camera first, examining himself.

He didn't look half as intimidating as he hoped he did, but that was fine—that's what his mouth was for.

With a few taps, his feed to Kurusu went live.  
  


* * *

  
The way Akechi groaned his name made Akira arch up into his fist and echo a groan back to him. He couldn't help but tip his head backwards onto his pillow, but his screen flickered and he looked back up to see Akechi displayed on his screen, all for him.

Three thoughts instantly hit him:

1) he wished he'd splurged for a phone with a bigger screen  
2) Akechi was fucking _gorgeous_ _  
_ and 3) he was a goner. 

The way Akechi looked—hair loosely, messily bound back, a soft face and hard eyes—made his eyes shut briefly with a shudder. He looked miraculously put-together, but Akira could swear his cheeks were pink and his eyes were dilated. His lips looked wet, and Akira wondered if he'd licked them just before turning on the camera, licked them at the sight of Akira's cock in hand...

"What do you want from me?" he managed to get out, moving his ungloved hand up to his nipple and rubbing lightly, pinching and tugging. "I'll do it, I promise."

He released his cock and brought that hand up to his other nipple. His cock bounced back onto his taut stomach, smearing precome under his bellybutton as he circled his fingers around both nipples. The leather was damp from precome as well, and it made the slippery slide send shockwaves through him.  
  


* * *

**  
_"What do you want from me? I'll do it, I promise."_ **

_Oh, shit._

Everything about their journey up until this moment had felt surreal, but Akechi's suspicions were right: this _was_ too much for him, way too goddamn real and _vivid_ and _visceral_ and every other sharp descriptor under the fucking sun.

... Maybe he was going to Yongen tonight.

No, he fucking _wasn't._ Get a grip!

But fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ did he suddenly want to. It was going to take every ounce of self-control to maintain the facade, but if it meant giving Kurusu a pleasurable descent back to Earth, he'd find a way.

"L-Lube," he stuttered out despite himself, getting embarrassed the second the word left his mouth, "You have lube, don't you? I want you to open yourself up. I want to see _all_ of you, leaking, keening just for me."

Too intimate. Change course, quickly.

"I want to see how long it takes you to loosen up. How often do you play with yourself? You strike me as the sort of insatiable teenager who ruts into his pillows like a rabbit instead of buying a toy. After Mementos, maybe, to wind down?"

Bordering on babbling. He wasn't sure who had the upper hand anymore, but he was determined to snatch back the control he’d so unceremoniously lost.  
  


* * *

  
God, watching Akechi speak was ten times better than simply hearing it. Seeing his expression as filthy words dripped from his mouth, watching every motion he made—Akira was smitten.

 _Lube. Right._ "I have some," he said, frustrated with himself when he remembered it wasn't within arms reach. "But it's... it's at my desk, give me a sec." Careful not to disturb the angle he'd gotten his phone at, he got to the desk and back in record time.

"Okay," he whispered as he popped it open. Akechi was still talking.

**_"How often do you play with yourself? ... After Mementos, maybe, to wind down?"_ **

"We don't all get horny when we fight," he bit out, but the words came out less snarky then he meant them to because his voice broke when he sunk a finger inside him at the same time. He pushed himself a little faster than usual, and the stretch burned. He watched Akechi's expression with baited breath as he worked a second one in, and he arched his hips towards the camera to fully show off each sensually slow movement. His cock bobbed in the air with each thrust of his hand, delicious sparks shooting through his body.

"Want this to be your fingers," he whimpered. "It's not enough." He tried shifting the angle but he couldn't get it quite right in the position he was in, twisted around for the camera. He was panting already and aching for more. "Making myself loose for you, just for you, Goro." He started thrusting a little harder, unable to help himself.  
  


* * *

**  
_"We don't all get horny when we fight."_ **

"It seems I've been caught," Akechi acquiesced, a keen edge undercutting every word. It was the greatest effort he could muster, his cock agonizingly hard and desperate for friction that he wouldn't allow himself. It was still too soon.

He watched Akira – darling, beautiful, _perfect_ little Akira – press a finger up into himself, sinking down to the knuckle; then he worked in a second, his entire body a tightly-wound coil as he pushed it deeper. Akechi could practically _see_ the stretch—see how the sensation tore through his body and subjugated him.

He was enraptured.  
  
"Akira..." he whispered in hot breath, his hips pressing down into the mattress of their own accord, "About that—me in battle... How did you feel about it?"

He trained his voice lower, dropping his hand to the swell of his cock and resting it there, his fingers ghosting over and tracing the shape.

"Did it scare you?"  
  


* * *

  
Just the sight of Akechi touching himself, being unable to resist any longer—it made Akira's cock throb hard, and even though he wasn't touching it he had to slow his fingers in fear of coming and messing this _whole_ thing up.

"It didn't," he said without hesitation. "It made me feel..." _honored, that you would share that part of yourself with me. Special. Fucked up._ He didn't want to ruin the mood. "Not scared," he brushed off, then withdrew his fingers to apply more lube.

He needed to distract Akechi from making him _feel_ things. He changed his position again, so Akechi could see his clenching hole as he pressed three fingers up against it, so he could watch it _swallow_ those fingers down to the hilt with a slow, steady push. It punched a moan out of him.

"I'm not scared of you," he said again, then cried out when _fuck_ he found a good angle. "I just... Goro, I want you." He couldn't help himself anymore—he fingerfucked himself relentlessly, rocking into every movement. He could barely keep his eyes open to watch Akechi, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. It felt _amazing_ , it felt perfect, just enough to keep him going but not enough to tip him over the edge.  
  


* * *

**  
_"I'm not scared of you."_ **

"Oh?" he said, rising slowly and sitting on his haunches. He moved the phone with him, positioned it at just the perfect angle, and tilted his head, looking down at him.

"That's a shame," he continued, looping a finger under the elastic of his boxers and twisting them down his hips, his length bobbing freely. He discarded them beside the mattress and let his legs fall open a bit wider before trailing his fingers along a prominent vein, tacky with precum. "I've always thought fear looked good on you. Takes the pretense out of your eyes when the only thing separating you and death is my hand on the trigger."

A soft, sweet sigh tumbled from his lips as he began working himself, the strokes nice and slow. He welled up almost instantly, a noise caught in his throat at the sound of wetness trapped between skin.

"You can ask me about it, you know. Since this little foray is apparently all about 'living in the moment', I'd say there's no greater time than the present to start asking the important questions."

He wasn't sure why he was bringing this up, but maybe it had been nagging at him since his return to Shibuya.

"I want you to understand the gravity of what you're doing before you let yourself get off to me. And I mean me, _here._ Not some weird little fantasy you conjured up in your head."

He brought two fingers of his ungloved hand up to his mouth, prodding at the plush bottom lip before making pointed eye contact and darting his tongue across the pads of his fingers, wetting them.

Perhaps Kurusu wasn't the only one fond of putting on a show.

"Why _don't_ I scare you?"  
  


* * *

  
The split emotions of seeing Akechi's mouthwateringly gorgeous cock (and oh, Akira wanted his mouth on it, wanted to run his tongue up and down that vein Akechi was rubbing, wanted to swallow it down as deep as he could go and then have Akechi force his head down deeper, wanted to lick precome sweetly from the tip and drink down everything Akechi had to give him) and Akechi's oddly serious words—they made Akira dizzy.

He had to pause in his fingerfucking to be able to actually think enough to respond, and he took the opportunity to stretch out a cramp in his wrist. He moved his gloved hand back to his cock to take off some of the pleasurable ache, though, unable to _really_ stop himself—especially not when Akechi maintained strict eye contact while flicking his tongue against the tips of his fingers, _fuck_.

"I suppose... you remind me of myself," he said, carefully. "In more ways than I'm able to admit. And also? You're unbelievably hot when you fight. I think I was too busy admiring you to really be scared during that fight." He laughed a little, self-deprecatingly. "And this isn't a fantasy. This is what I really want. I want you... like this." He kept up the slow movements of his hands, tugging on his cock. His eyes flickered from Akechi's mouth to his eyes to his exposed erection, unsure where to focus his attention.  
  


* * *

**  
_I think I was too busy admiring you to really be scared during that fight."_ **

That...? Oh. _Oh._ He'd misunderstood.

Well really, maybe Akechi hadn't been specific enough. He supposed it was a little ridiculous, bringing _that_ up, of all things. They were having a good time; no need to ruin it for the sake of resolving something they could hash out any other time. Besides, Akechi had gotten the answer he was looking for, or at the very least, the one that Kurusu probably thought he wanted to hear.

_Hmm..._

_"You're unbelievably hot when you fight,"_ Akira had said, _"You remind me of myself."_

A lot to pick apart. Akechi suddenly felt a little more vulnerable, sucking his fingers into his mouth and making sure to get them nice and wet before rolling his fingers over his nipples in conjunction with shallow thrusts. He whimpered, throwing Kurusu a heated look.

"I remind you of yourself, hm?" he said, voice low—hopefully not _too_ low for the receiver, "I suppose that means you have high expectations for yourself when it comes to stamina… Performance."

A little laugh, punctuated by a break in his voice as he squeezed himself, hard.

"I've rather enjoyed what you've shown me so far, I'll give you that much," he said, "But I wonder how much longer you can hold out..."

He picked up his phone and angled it downward, almost as if he were taking a selfie like he often did for his blog.

_Oh, if only. His fanbase and the media would devour him whole._

"Besides me tearing into you, what sort of things do you like to hear?" he asked, "I give you permission to come, but only under the condition that you do your best to get me off afterward. Now that we've breached the barrier of personable accountability, you may have to face some... _consequences_ , when we meet next time. If you don’t, or can’t. Consequences you _won't like."_

He let his face relax and eased it into made-for-TV smile, his cock oozing precum down his thighs for an obscene touch.

"Up to the task, Joker?"  
  


* * *

**  
_"I've rather enjoyed what you've shown me so far."_ **

Akira stifled a moan at that, then thought better of it and played it up a little with a longer, throatier moan as he squeezed his cock harder. Akechi liked this, he was _praising_ Akira. He panted after the praise like a dog, needy.

And then the angle of Akechi on the phone screen shifted, and oh, fuck. Akechi's face, darkly sensual and flushed, took up the foreground, and the rest of his body stretched out downwards. Akira could see the stiff peaks of his pink nipples, wet and hard from the way Akechi had been rubbing them. Then, lower, he could see the hard jut of his cock, shining with a strand of precome, and the smooth pale skin of his thighs. The different angle accentuated sharp hip bones and the smooth muscles of his abdomen.

Akira shivered on the sheets and realized Akechi had been talking while he'd been ogling. Shit. Something about consequences, and what he wanted to hear, and permission...

**_"Up to the task, Joker?"_ **

Hearing the name "Joker" from Akechi's mouth while outside the Metaverse was _doing_ things to him. He squirmed.

"I'm up for anything you'll give me," he breathed. He tore his eyes away from Akechi's body long enough to focus his gaze on the camera lens, hoping his head-on expression would do as much for Akechi as Akechi was doing for him.

"I like to hear..." Akira swallowed. He really just wanted Akechi to do more of whatever the verbal equivalent was to stepping on him was, but Akechi'd said he wanted something else. "I don't think you'll want to... ah. I like praise." He flushed hard and looked away. Stupid; Akechi wasn't the type to do sappy things like that. "I also want to hear _you_. Your pleasure. Your moans. I want to know I make you feel good.”  
  


* * *

  
"Praise, hm...?" Akechi murmured. Was he even _capable_ of praising someone? Probably not, if he was being honest with himself, but he could try.

 _Turn it sensual,_ he thought, _Don't make it complicated._

He tilted his head a little, letting his tawny eyelashes flutter into a half-lidded gaze—a technique he used on old perverts, usually, and _not_ people he genuinely enjoyed messing around with, but he needed something familiar in unfamiliar territory.

"Did you know I first saw you in Madarame's palace?" Akechi asked, his words a little too slow to be conversational, "You told me before that was the first time anyone mentioned another Metaverse user. Not a coincidence, I'm afraid."

Was he doing this right?

_Just keep going._

"The first time we were in a palace at the same time, I fucked up. I let his shadow see me while I was tailing you. I got distracted. Some jackass in black and red looked..."

_Incredible. Gorgeous. Mind-bogglingly sexy._

"I couldn't take my eyes off of him."

_Fucking hell._

He cleared his throat, his skin on fire. Deciding to turn on the camera was a colossal mistake.

"He was... _different,_ from me, but something about him felt similar."

_Magnetic._

"Watching him cut through shadows, tear them to ribbons... He smiled like a hero for the others, but it seemed like there was something in it for him, too. Like he was soaking up their admiration, like he _fed_ on it."

_I fingered myself in one of the bathrooms afterward._

"I wanted it. I wanted what _he_ had. I let myself become obsessed, but you know that part, don't you? You're not stupid. Meddling gods aside, all that 'fate' talk was horseshit."

He tried to focus on himself, pulled his mind back to the memory of how hard he came that day, cheek pressed uncomfortably into the stall door. His gauntlets had been wrecked with cum.

"So then Leblanc happened, and I became fixated on the way he poured over making coffee, books – whatever he was doing – with such single-minded-focus."

This confession was a step away from becoming disconcertingly emotional, but he couldn't just stop _now_ , could he?

"That was something I'd trained myself to have when I started juggling multiple things in my life, not something that just... came naturally. And I really liked how his fingers looked, too. Maybe that helped."

He let go of a shallow breath and made a point to look directly at Akira, hoping the eye contact would say more than he'd allow himself to.

"I imagined those hands on me sometimes, when we were alone. I thought about just saying 'fuck it' to everything and inviting him up to his own bedroom, blowing him, helping him clean the cafe—"

Akechi's tone darkened.

"It was a nice, impossible fantasy. But it was never one that I was going to throw away everything for—no matter _how_ good I thought fucking him might be."

He was definitely doing this wrong, but somehow, despite everything, he was still hard. Maybe he could ease himself into the right ballpark.  
  


* * *

  
Akechi talked, and Akira listened. He was going deeper into his psyche than Akira would've thought (though, Akechi tended to do that, ever since he had started coming to Leblanc—letting his guard down around Akira, telling him things that made Akira fall deeper and deeper) and Akira was caught up in it. Learning that Akechi had been transfixed by Joker from the start… 

**_"All that 'fate' talk was horseshit.”_ **

_Yeah, right. Who is he trying to convince here?_

He'd been transfixed by _Akira_ , maybe even as much as Akira'd been by him.

He was distracted from his arousal during this conversation, which got... very personal very quickly and wasn't entirely what Akira had expected, but then Akechi said he liked his _fingers_ and thought about _blowing_ him in the attic of Leblanc...

"I can help you with those fantasies," Akira said, his voice a little hoarse. "My fingers... I can show you what they're like, _really_ close up. In your mouth..." he paused, rubbing at his cock again (it had wilted a little at this point, but _definitely_ started taking an interest again when Akechi said such lovely words about him) and groaning under his breath. "In your ass, if you want. Anything you want."

He wanted to say something like _I can show you how good this dick is_ but it sounded way too into porn-star territory for even him, and he absolutely did not want to risk Akechi hanging up on him again... even if he was pretty sure Akechi wouldn't do anything like that at this point. Akechi's eyes bore into him like he was the only thing that mattered right now. It made Akira feel wanted, _needed_ , in ways he didn't know how to articulate.

Akechi liked his fingers? He'd make them the star of the show right now, then. He brought the fingers of his ungloved hand up to his mouth now, licked them until they were shining and then rested them on his lower lip. "This could be your cock right now," he whispered. "You've wanted this? For that long?" He laughed just a little, self-deprecatingly. "You should've said. I wanted it, too." He sucked in his fingers again, hollowing his cheeks and showing off the edge of his cheekbones.  
  


* * *

  
"You want me to come over so badly," Akechi said, biting back a small laugh of both exasperation and disbelief, "I really don't understand you. Surely there are other people out there who could do this for you—and play _nicer_ , while they're at it."

 _But he said he wanted_ you, Akechi reminded himself, _Shitty fathers, bloodied hands and all. What a hopeless idiot._

"But... yeah. Yeah, I have wanted it," Akechi admitted, feeling his stomach drop. A fresh wave of arousal seared through him as he watched Akira suck on his fingers. Akechi wanted to get them in his mouth. "Longer than you have, even."

He started actively working himself again, letting small, meted breaths fall past his lips so Akira could hear him. He wasn't one to make a ton of noise – he'd trained himself not to, being in foster care for so many years – but he couldn't _not_ try with Akira looking so fucking wrecked.

"I can't come over tonight, and I won't make any promises I can't keep, but..." Akechi watched Akira's cheeks hollow around his fingers and desperately wanted to know what the inside of his mouth felt like. "If you can get me to this point again without coercing me, or laying it on thick..."

His arm was starting to hurt. He propped his phone against his pillow again, spreading his legs as wide as he possibly could and leaning back on one arm. He tried to relax. Another foot and he might as well be rutting against the camera; his cock was in full view.

"I'd like to get your pretty cock in my mouth and taste you for all you're worth."

He thumbed at the bead of precum crowning his cock and pressed the soiled fingers into his mouth, making a show of it and twisting at the knuckle. He tasted... like not much of anything, honestly, but the leather had a scent to it that he associated with feeling protected—firmly in control.

He _was_ in control.

He retracted from his mouth with a little 'pop' for emphasis, gauging Akira's response.

"Fortunately for you, I'm a bit of an oral slut."  
  


* * *

**  
_"You want me to come over so badly."_ **

_That's not the only thing I want you to do so badly... and not the only kind of coming I want from you, either._ Akira thought about saying that, but Akechi kept talking.

Akechi wanted his cock—he called it pretty. He _liked_ it. Wanted it in his mouth. Akira squirmed and bit his lip on a smile, moving his hand slow on his flushed cock, showing it off a little more for the camera.

He looked good, and he knew it—rosy from his cheeks to his chest, and then again at his cock, with elegant leather-clad fingers wrapped around it. His eyes shifted to watch himself on video for a second. The black leather gloves against pale skin added a layer of drama and artistry to the image that he enjoyed.

And then his eyes were torn back, watching Akechi suck shining precome-tainted leather into his mouth like he was made for it. Akira was panting again by the time he heard Akechi murmur **_I'm a bit of an oral slut_ ** and then he had to shut his eyes and whimper at the thought of it, at the sight of Akechi flirting with him filthily with a string of saliva tauntingly connecting his fingers to his mouth.

It was almost too much—Akechi was too sexy for words and Akira was losing it. He fought back the only way he knew how: win at this game.

He laved the two middle fingers of his free hand again, licking around and between each one with single-minded devotion, then made eye contact with the camera again as he sank them in slow, millimeter by millimeter. When they bottomed out, he closed his eyes and groaned, swallowed hard so his adam's apple bobbed in his throat. It wasn't just for show—he liked having his mouth full, even if it wasn't cock.

He added a third finger and sucked hard enough that he knew the obscene wet sounds would be audible to Akechi's ears. He shivered at the thought of Akechi listening and watching, knowing this is what Akira would sound like around his cock. He let a thin trail of drool leak out between his fingers, trailing down his chin like the precome trailing down his cock, just barely in frame.

"Fortunately for you, I'm one, too," he breathed.  
  


* * *

_  
Holy shit, maybe we_ would _be good together._

This was starting to feel competitive, and Akechi realized that as good as this position was, it wasn't good _enough_.

"Shit..." He took his blanket and balled it up, practically throwing his phone against it as he sank into his pillow. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed.

"Wish I had a toy or something to show you what I'm _really_ capable of. You're so fucking sexy like this, so goddamn beautiful that I can't help but want to absolutely _destroy you."_ He laughed openly, and to his own ears, it sounded a little unhinged. "It's unfair, honestly. Of all people on this planet, the fact that it had to be you, the _one fucking person_ I was supposed to hate..."

He trailed off, and then said fondly:

"Maybe I do hate you. Maybe this is just my sick way of conquering you—of putting you in a position where you can't win over me. What then?"

It was a rhetorical question, but he wouldn't have minded hearing Akira's answer.

He brought his fingers to his lower lip, smeared the last bit of precum across it, and flicked his tongue over it, flexing his fingers.

Three of them, huh? But first—

He ran his tongue along the underside of his middle finger, closing around it at the tip; then back down, prodding hesitantly with a second like it wasn't his own. He sucked on both for a moment, keeping his movements chaste and predictable, before moaning around his fingers and hissing:

"Akira, _look at me."_

He was already looking at him, but that wasn't the point: this was a definitive jab in a battle that Akechi refused to let get stale.

He rolled over onto his back, giving Akira a nice side profile, and scissored his lips apart, bringing the seed-slick fingers of his other hand to his mouth and sliding them over his tongue until knuckles clashed with teeth.

_Don't fucking gag._

It wasn't a straight-on view, but Akechi knew what it looked like—let a high, broken moan crackle out of his throat and let his eyes get glassy.

_He has darker impulses. Let him think about fucking my face.  
  
_

* * *

  
"Fuck," Akira breathed. He couldn't look away, not if his life depended on it. Akechi was showing off now, too, and Akira couldn't help but fall into his trap of imagining that being his cock... of Akechi _moaning_ around him as he took him down all the way, as far as he could, getting off on the taste and feel of Akira's cock down his throat.

He thought about that happening soon—about Akechi making his way to Yongen-Jaya tomorrow, ordering a cup of coffee and smiling sweet and innocent at Sojiro, and then pulling Akira to his room after the cafe closed and _wrecking_ him, shattering him to pieces and making him whole.

It was too much. "Please," he choked out, speeding up his hand on his cock. The pleasure shook through his body, lighting up every bit of him, lighting up his desperation for Akechi. He let the slick fingers of his other hand rub over his now-sensitive lips. "Please let me come, I." He whined and bared his throat, _needing_.  
  


* * *

  
Akechi retracted his fingers, spluttering. He must be getting tired, because everything was starting to make him revert to his base self.

"That's all it took?" he asked, mocking him. He was going to ride this to the finish—end on a high note. "Sure Joker, go ahead and fucking _come_. Imagine if I was actually there, swallowing you down. What would you do, blow your load in the first five seconds?"

He breathed, rolling onto his side and stretching with the nimbleness of a cat. He could feel the trail of saliva starting to cool on his chin, but he couldn't tear himself away from the sight of Joker – _his_ Joker, he thought possessively – on the brink of orgasm.

"I want to see you," he murmured, his voice dripping with velvet and danger, "Show me the face you make when you succumb to all of the dirty little pieces of you kept under lock and key. All _mine."_

* * *

Akira whimpered and shook, twisted and writhed in the bed. "Yes, yes, I want you to swallow me. All yours—" he choked out. _All yours. All yours._

The words flooded his mind as his toes curled, his hand sped up to a blur, and his body suspended in pleasure for a beautiful perfect moment before ecstasy crashed through him. He was distantly aware of moaning Akechi's name, chanting it as he spilled over himself, slicking the leather glove and his stomach with stripes of come.

His heart hammered in his chest as he managed to open his eyes again and look back at Akechi. He hadn't come that hard in... he couldn't remember how long. The almost visceral feeling of Akechi's eyes locked onto him had amplified the pleasure in a way he hadn't expected. Akira lazily lifted his hand, lax in a post-orgasmic haze, and licked at the creamy stripes decorating black leather, chasing the salty bitterness with his lips and tongue. He left a thick smear of it along his lips for Akechi to see, and panted out, "Was that good enough for you?" He felt come drip down to his chin as he spoke.  
  


* * *

  
"Exemplary," Akechi responded, voice quivering at the sight of him, at the low buzz of stimulation in his blood—the entire traitorous production, "You're a fucking _disaster_ , Joker."

He moved a hand to his throat and thumbed over his Adam's apple, parting his lips.

"I think I'll be more of a challenge than you were. You might actually have to work hard at something for once in your life."

His fingers trailed from his neck to his nipples, massaging them, twisting them—whatever felt right in the moment. His chest had always been sensitive, and he made a soft noise of invitation as he spread his legs.

"Your move, Akira."  
  


* * *

  
Now that Akira'd come, he was feeling a little more in control of himself. His head was still swimming from the intensity of his orgasm, but he stretched out lazily and ran the flat of his tongue along more of the come staining his ( _Akechi's_ , god, he swore he could smell his cologne hidden beneath the primal scent of fine leather) glove, shooting the camera a sly, Joker-patented smirk.

"You going to want this glove back, Goro?" he asked lightly. "I can clean it off for you, if you want." He slid his hand back down to the come splashed over his stomach and scooped it up with his fingers, bringing them back to his mouth with a long, sensual lick of his tongue. He liked the taste of come—wanted to taste Akechi's, see if it was more bitter or more musky, how salty it was and how sweet he could make him moan as he drank him down.

"You always were a challenge, hm?" He pulled the glove off with his teeth and left it to rest on his chest, soft black against his pale skin, inches above the last pearly streaks of come that decorated his flushed body. "My move, you say."

Akechi's thighs looked so soft and biteable, spread wide and enticingly. "If I were there," Akira started, feeling vulnerable again for a moment. He licked his lips. "If I were with you. Would you want me between those legs? Or on top of them, riding you and biting your nipples? Would you want to pin me down with my face to the bed and your arm across my back, forcing me down and wrecking me? Tell me, Goro," he breathed out, transfixed by the image of Goro on his phone screen. He felt so close to him, and yet so far away. "Tell me what I can do for you. I want to do it all."  
  


* * *

  
Akechi watched him lick himself off the glove, the leather coming away spit-slick. He had a difficult time keeping his mouth shut, but Akira was feeding him such icy words now—the kind that edged their way under his skin and quelled the fire burning in his blood. The two of them together like this were polar. _Chemical._

_Tell me what I can do for you._

"I don't like thinking," Akechi said softly, "You don't need to ask for my permission. Just do what you want and I'll tell you if I hate it."

He stroked himself languidly, his eyes searing; even at the mercy of someone else, he refused to seem fragile. 

"I want you _everywhere,_ " he said with a subtle bite, "Inside me, riding me... Eating or drinking me down like I'm your last meal..." 

He licked his lips, huffing out a small moan as he found a sensitive spot just beneath the head of his cock and massaged it insistently. 

"I don't care who's face down, either, but if it's me, you damn well better have _earned it_ , Joker. I won't lose to you. I don't care what the setting or the mood is."  
  


* * *

  
Akira felt _powerful_. Akechi’s words were scathing, but even if Akira couldn’t see his blatantly swollen erection, he’d know Akechi was feeling it by now. His cheeks were bright red, his eyes glassy, and his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Akira could hear him panting, could see his chest heaving with how good he was feeling.

Yeah, Akechi talked like he was a big shot, but Akira knew better. Akechi was turned on by this—turned on by _Akira,_ the way he’d made Akira squirm and come hard with his words and his beautiful body. It was Akechi’s turn, now, and Akira would help it however he could. 

“Goro,” he said. He kept his voice low, almost pleading. He still could taste his own come on his tongue, and feel the drops on his abs cooling in the attic air. He kept an eye on the way Akechi touched his own cock so he could commit it to memory. He wanted to be able to make Akechi feel so fucking good when he finally got his hands on him.

“Goro, you look so good right now, here just for me to watch. Will you let me watch more? Will you let me watch you come apart right here on screen for me?” He was desperate to see it. Akechi, in a moment of pure rapture… he was almost salivating for it.  
  


* * *

  
Shit, praise. Akechi hated what it did to him; it made him feel weak, but it also spurred him onward—a moth drawn to a flame. A wave of shame rolled through him, making the aftereffect of Akira's words sting.

**_Will you let me watch more? Will you let me watch you come apart right here on screen for me?_ **

"Commit everything to memory."

 _You probably won't get to see this again,_ his mind supplied, reality creeping back in.

Akechi arched into his movements, digging his head deeper into his pillow. He tried to keep his eyes focused on Akira, panting as he sped up. A myriad of small, lewd sounds leaked out from in-between his fingers, his breath getting caught in his throat.

"Be the leader I know you can be, Akira," he challenged him lightly, voice breaking, "Come on—!"

He let go of a small cry despite himself, his face heating up. God, he wanted Akira... All at once, surrounding him, _choking_ him. He wanted to know what he smelled like, covered in sweat and cum. Boyish, maybe; a little bitter, like coffee.

He couldn't help himself. He closed his eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. This was too much. He just wanted to imagine Akira's hand on him like he always did—get as far away from himself and his own head as possible.  
  


* * *

  
Watching Akechi cling to the edge was _intoxicating_. Akira's eyes darted over the screen, wanting to catch _all_ of him: each drop of sweat, each breath, every undulating movement.

Akira swore he could almost see the beat of Akechi's pulse in the hollow of his neck. He wanted to bite it, to mark it as his own, to press his hand there and hold Akechi down with nothing but his fingers wrapped around that pretty, slender neck. He wanted to feel Akechi swallowing beneath them. 

He thought of Akechi choking, making obscene noises, looking at him with frantic wide eyes and unable to stop himself from coming hard with Akira's hand wrapped around his pulse.

If he wasn't so completely wiped from his orgasm, he'd almost be getting hard again now. As it was, without his intense arousal he could put all his focus towards Akechi.

 **_"Be the leader I know you can be, Akira."_ **

_That's right. I'm your leader too, aren't I?_

"You're so close, aren't you? You're right there. God, Goro, I wish you could see yourself right now. You're so hot, so good—" Akira swallowed and fondled his soft cock just a little. He wasn't doing it for pleasure—more for the want to do something with his hand.

"I want to see you fall apart. Fair's fair, isn't it?" he chuckled darkly. The mood felt charged in a different way than it had two minutes ago, now that he had his feet back under him. "I gave you part of me, now give me part of you in return. Let me see you come." _Let me see it again, again—the next time you come, I want it to be in my mouth. How can I not want to see you this way after I've gotten a taste?_

Maybe this had all been a mistake, but hell if it wasn't the best mistake Akira'd ever made. Akechi was always in his head every hour of every day, anyway.  
  


* * *

**  
_"I want to see you fall apart. Fair's fair, isn't it?"_ **

His voice was rich and musical and perfect. Leave it to Joker to make this sort of exchange into a deal and look like an artfully unkempt god of temptation while doing it. 

Akechi's hips canted into his hand, his free one white-knuckling the sheets. He clenched his teeth and held each breath, the tension wired through his body making him nearly choke it back out.

"I'm really fucking close," he thought out loud, inwardly recoiling.

_Embarrassing._

He forced his eyes back open, taking in Joker's face, his hair, his sharp eyes, the slant of his mouth. He wanted to say the right thing, but his brain was fraying at the edges.

"You're going to be the only one... who ever sees me like this," he tried, hoping it sounded more romantic than foreboding, "This little game we're playing is born... and _dies..._ with us."

He keened, the sound aborting rapidly in his throat.

"Only you could— _shit!_ "

He moaned, open-mouthed. Everything felt impossibly good, _far_ better than the nights when he was just secluded and horny by himself. He thought about Akira's hands again, thought about them all over him, and felt his thighs tremble.

"Akira, I... Akira... _Fuck...!_ "

He half-buried his face in his pillow, eyes screwing shut as his orgasm crashed into him, overwriting him. There was no Goro Akechi, no Akira Kurusu, no bullshit realities, nothing—just him and a brief moment of feeling like this sensation was the only thing in the universe that mattered.

He felt his labored breathing before he heard it, opened bleary eyes to see Kurusu, looking smug.

He cocked his head to the side, trying to play it off as if his abdomen and fingers weren't covered in – for him – a relatively surprising amount of sweat and cum. He was also hyper-aware that at some point, a few tears had started streaming down his face.

"... Satisfied?" he asked, his own voice sounding thick and foreign.  
  


* * *

  
Akira's mouth dropped open as he watched Akechi crest over the edge. The image of his body arching as come splashed against his skin, the sound of him cursing out Akira's name, panting and whimpering...

Akira had masturbation material for _life_.

"Very satisfied," he said, his mouth dry. "Holy shit, Goro, you..." he let his voice trail off in wonder.

The realization crashed into him that fuck, he was done for. He needed to see Goro like this, again and again. He'd felt it during the throes of pleasure, sure, but feelings during sex could often be lies. But now, in the afterglow, seeing Akechi splayed out on his bed, drained, watching Akira with hazy eyes… his heart throbbed inside him.

Where were they, now? What did Akechi want? Akira wanted to whisper sweet words, give him promises he intended to keep, but he had a feeling Akechi would scorn such things. He wouldn't put it past Akechi to hang up on him again, after he'd gotten...

After he'd gotten what he wanted.

Akira swallowed. The warm post-orgasm relaxation trickled coldly away. Was this it? Was this... how would Akechi act around him, now? Would he avoid him? Would he cut deeper with his insults, now that he'd seen Akira at his most vulnerable? Would he act like nothing had changed, like none of this had ever happened?

He wasn't sure which option hurt most. Probably the last one.

"Akechi..." he started, a little hoarse. It felt wrong calling him 'Goro' outside the heat of the moment, especially as he hadn't _actually_ been given permission to do so. "I." His mind raced. What could he say that Akechi wouldn't lash out at? This pliant, fucked-out Akechi looked like a different breed, but Akira had read him wrong before. He decided to stick to just the basics.

"Will you come to Leblanc tomorrow night?"  
  


* * *

  
Something in Akira's expression looked _really_ fucking broken, and for a moment, Akechi's mind shorted out.

"I—" he stuttered, his heart still pounding, "I really shouldn't. I... I wasn't bullshitting you when I was trying to drive home the importance of stopping Maruki. You understand that he should be our first priority... _right_ , Joker?"

The way he'd said "Joker" was intentionally clipped—impersonal, and maybe even a little subordinate in nature. He needed to know that this little adventure hadn't shaken his resolve. It _couldn't._ He'd never forgive himself.

"... It was good. I enjoyed it— _you,_ " he amended, "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say here."

He shook his head a little, letting go of a dry breath. He suddenly felt very tired. "We need to be beyond this. There's no time to sit and suss this out. We don't have the luxury of being two stupid, horny teenagers. And maybe we never have."

God, he wanted to say yes.  
  


* * *

  
Akira stayed quiet for a moment, observing Akechi. He tried to read his body language or his expression, tried to see if this was something Akechi _was_ open to.

He noticed that Akechi didn't actually say _no_. He let that give him hope.

"We can go to the Metaverse the day after." He pulled his blanket over his lower half. It was chilly now that the sweat on his body had cooled. He thought about Akechi being there, draped over him, sharing body heat in a post-coital moment. The space next to him felt empty, especially with Morgana being... whatever was happening to Morgana right now.

(Not that he'd want Morgana in his bed at the moment.)

"It's good to have a break, especially since we don't have much team back-up at the moment. We can't exhaust ourselves." Excuses, he knew, but he couldn't bear the thought of things going back to how they were before.

He at least wanted one more day. One more chance.

"I think we should see each other in person, first. Before going back there." He searched Akechi's expression on the screen. He didn't know if the hesitation he saw was his imagination hoping for the best, or if Akechi was actually considering him.  
  


* * *

  
Akechi remained silent for a moment, thinking. One thing was still nagging at the back of his mind, and he wanted a proper answer.

"Akira," he said, introducing the emotional weight back to his voice that he'd stripped away earlier, "When I asked you why you weren't afraid of me, you misunderstood something. I was talking about what happened in the interrogation room."

He searched his face, waiting for any sign of a fight or flight response. "I'm going to be honest with you: I don't trust you. Not in the way I probably should if this is going to be a repeat offense in the midst of a dimensional apocalypse. I need you to drop the act with me and stop treating me gently. Honesty for honesty."

He took a deep breath.  
  
"How can you look at me, fight alongside me, and want to _fuck_ me when you know damn well the kind of person I am?" he asked, his voice steely, "That wasn't a mistake or a fluke back then. That was – _is_ – me. And maybe I didn't like my circumstances back then, maybe I wasn't the one in control, but if you got in the way of defeating Maruki, who's to say I wouldn't pull the trigger again?"  
  


* * *

  
Akira shifted, curling his legs up and resting more fully on his pillow. He held the phone in one hand and tugged the blankets up further, shivering, hugging himself for extra warmth, both physically and emotionally.

**_"I was talking about what happened in the interrogation room."_ **

The whiplash Akira felt from having an orgasm five minutes ago to talking about the interrogation room made his heart turn ice cold. He had to take an agonizing few seconds to get his thoughts in order.

"This probably isn't the answer you want to hear," Akira started, haltingly. "But what I was afraid of back then, it wasn't _you_ , exactly. It was our plan not working." He huffed out a laugh. "I was worried you'd see through us more than I was worried about actually getting shot. I shouldn't have been surprised when you worked out what happened later." He felt a sudden surge of fondness, which wasn't something any sane person should feel towards their would-be murderer. _We were lucky. No, more than lucky—we outdid you at your game. We worked at it with our own blood and sweat—anything to keep the Phantom Thieves together._ The Thieves didn't feel like a family anymore in this hazy dream, and he felt sick.

"I have nightmares about the interrogation room." The vulnerability he felt crept up his spine—he didn't know if he should be telling Akechi this; the difference between physical and emotional intimacy was vast—but once he started, he couldn't stop. "I dream about it all the time. But not about you. About the guards. The drugs, the dehydration, the way they stomped on me with military-grade boots and nearly broke my femur. Do you know how long I had to wear foundation to cover the bruises they left on my face?"

He took a shaky breath and stopped when he realized he was trembling all over. Akechi wasn't looking to pity him, he was looking for answers. Akira was letting himself get out of control. He shook his head.

"I'm not afraid of you pulling the trigger on me, Akechi. You _aren't_ under his control anymore. Not your father’s, and not Yaldabaoth’s. You've shown me who you are in ways you haven't shown _anyone_ before." He couldn't catch the next words before they stumbled out of his mouth. "That makes me special to you, doesn't it?"  
  


* * *

_  
You're my rival. You're the one person who sees things from the same perspective I do—the one person who can go toe-to-toe with me when it comes to absolutely anything. Another side of the same coin._

The more epithets he gave him, the more childish it sounded. He knew he was running from the truth, but when had knowing ever stopped him?

_"In the end, I couldn't be special."_

Shido's palace felt like an eternity ago. 

"I—am I—is that how _you_ see me?" he eventually settled on, unable to use the same palette of words. He wondered if Akira's phrasing was deliberate or if he was just being overly-sensitive in his emotional and physical exhaustion.   
  


* * *

  
"Of course I do," Akira breathed, before he could think better of it. Akechi looked almost as vulnerable as Akira felt, and it was a sight he'd never thought he would see. And once again, Akechi hadn't said no. It was the words Akechi didn't say but didn't reject—those were the important ones, hidden in double meanings and cast-aside eyes.

"You're... I've never felt like this before, with anyone else." He fidgeted. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. But, to me... this wasn't just sex. It's _you._ I honestly don't know how this ended up happening," he added with a short laugh, "but I can't say I regret it at all."

He bit his lip and forced himself not to look away. "Even if you reject me... I'm going to remember this night for as long as I live."  
  


* * *

  
"Telling you 'no, I won't come over' isn't rejecting you, Akira, it's just the smart thing to do," he said soberly, "We don't know what the future holds. You _do_ remember that before this all happened, I was in prison, right? I'm going to be held accountable for my crimes. Where does that leave you?"

He broke eye contact, looking at anything but Akira. Prison was the least of his concerns, but now that he thought about it, he was screwed alive _or_ dead.

"I get that you want to chase this... _feeling,_ " he continued, "And I didn't hate tonight. But I think if you were in a more rational headspace, you'd see that this – you and me, the two of us – were never meant to be more than enemies. Or 'unconventional allies' now, I guess. Maruki's the one who wrote this arc in our stories. This isn't something we're allowed to have."

_And yet I let this happen anyway. What a miserable fucking idiot.  
  
_

* * *

**  
_"Telling you 'no, I won't come over' isn't rejecting you."_ **

_Saying 'no' is a rejection by default,_ Akira thought, irritated, but he knew better than to say it. He was trying to help Akechi feel comfortable with him, not rile him up more—at least not rile him up in this way.

"You really care about what we're 'allowed to have?'" Akira said, trying not to let his frustration show. "We're more than just allies at this point, and there's no turning that back. We were more than just allies a long time ago, even before we were on the same side. You said it yourself that you felt a spark the first time you saw me, and I know I felt one when I met you."

He thought frantically before continuing on—he felt like he was walking a tight line between coming up with the right thing to say and not letting Akechi interrupt him to turn him down until he'd had his say. "Can't we have this, now? Even if you think it won't last, even if you don't want to let yourself have this. Just give me a chance. I want to be there with you. I know you're trying to think about this rationally, but like I said before—it's okay to take things as they are in the short-term. You can let yourself have that. Please, just... give me a chance. Even if it's temporary."

God, it would hurt so much if it were temporary. But it would hurt more for it—them—to never have existed as a pair. His eyes felt like they were burning, but he refused to let himself cry. He'd shown enough vulnerability tonight already; he had _some_ dignity.  
  


* * *

**  
_You said it yourself that you felt a spark the first time you saw me, and I felt one when I saw you."_ **

"I wanted to _fuck you,_ Akira. Don't make it into more than it was," he snapped, immediately regretting it. He threw him a world-weary look in lieu of an apology.

"You can't..." Akechi started, trying to choose his words carefully, "When we're forced to make a choice again – when Maruki inevitably pulls some bullshit out of his ass and lays all of his cards on the table – we _have_ to choose 'no'. I can't even begin to entertain the idea of going any further until you promise me you won't fold, or change your mind."  
  
He swallowed, thinking about death—thinking about what it would be like to feel _nothing,_ not even a scrap of affection or hatred for the person on the other end of the line. He tried not to let the wave of panic that surged through him show on his face.

"He has _nothing_ on us. Before anything else, we're a force to be reckoned with. Promise me."  
  


* * *

  
Akira bit his lip to try and keep his emotions from flooding. Akechi's face... he'd seen that expression before. Like he was putting up a stony facade to hide cracks underneath, resigning himself to a fate he didn't need to resign to. It made him think of Futaba's Shadow, in her Palace all those months ago.

"Of course," he said, once he was sure he could keep his voice under control. It still wavered, just a little, as he continued speaking. "I promise you. I won't discard reality, not for anyone. There are things more important than me, or you. My ultimate goal is to save everyone from this false reality. I won't let myself succumb to it like the others have. I can't let myself."

He forced a smile. "And you're right. We _are_ a force to be reckoned with. Facing the two of us, together as allies? Maruki doesn't stand a chance." _If I can get the rest of the Thieves back with us,_ he thought, _then we'll be solid gold._

"I want what's real. I want us, but only if it's real. Only if you, the real you... If you want it, too." _Please want it, too.  
  
_

* * *

**  
_"And you're right. We are a force to be reckoned with. Facing the two of us, together as allies? Maruki doesn't stand a chance."_ **

Akechi let go of a shaky laugh, a smile twisting itself onto his face – relieved, fragile, and ultimately fleeting – before he could stop himself. A cold ball of _something_ in his chest started crumbling.

**_"I want what's real. I want us, only if it's real. Only if you, the real you... If you want it, too."_ **

_"The real you"... but how is he so certain of that?_

"Then I guess you leave me with no other choice—" he said with a touch of buoyancy, tucking a few strands of sweat-curled hair out of his face, "—but to come over and ascertain how 'real' this thing between us really is."  
  
He hesitated, eyes downcast.

"And I appreciate it... the reassurance. I have faith in you to make the right decision – you've been calling the shots and planning all of our battle strategies for a while now – but I can't help but feel like I bear partial responsibility for whatever you decide if I allow myself to get close to you... Do you understand?"

To his own ears, he sounded a bit like a parent.

"Then again, if we're _anything_ alike, I imagine I wouldn't have much sway over you."

His words were unintentionally layered, but Akira had already agreed to it; he'd _promised_ , and if there was anything Akechi would stake his life on, it'd be him upholding the promises he made.  
  


* * *

  
The wave of relief slammed Akira in the chest, so hard he almost laughed. He managed to hold back, thankfully—he didn't think Akechi would take it the right way if he essentially laughed in his face after such an emotional talk. Still, he couldn't stop himself from smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. His heart hurt, too, but in a way that felt almost good.

"I understand, Akechi. I want to explore this with you, if you'll have me." He tossed him a cheeky grin. "Come over tomorrow night? Sojiro usually locks up around 8, depending on if we have customers—if we do, he stays open a little later. I can make us some coffee and we can relax."

His heart thrummed in his chest. Sure, he'd been trying to convince Akechi, but he hadn't really let himself _truly_ believe this could happen until now. Now he had butterflies like some hopeful 13 year old on their first date. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the subtle wave in Goro's hair and the small smile on his face. He was _cute._

He forced himself to sober his mood a little, because he had to make sure Akechi understood: "I promise, I won't push anything. Not... not sex, not romance. Just come over, and we'll see where things go from there?"

 _Let's see how much sway you do have over me. It's more than you might suspect._ **_  
  
_ **

* * *

**  
_"Come over tomorrow night? Sojiro usually locks up around 8, depending on if we have customers—if we do, he stays open a little later. I can make us some coffee and we can relax."_ **

This was really, _really_ happening. Akechi's heart lodged itself in his throat, pounding away like a drum. He could practically taste his own anticipation.

"Truly a creature of habit," Akechi remarked, "Maybe we both are, revisiting old rituals."

Rambling again. Settle for something simpler—more _normal_.

"Coffee sounds nice. It's been quite a while."

Akechi had been actively avoiding Leblanc whenever possible, and he wondered if Akira could see through his behavior now; he felt like an open book, and if he was being honest with himself, it terrified him. But he'd try this whole "romance" thing on like an expensive outfit and hope it fit well enough to justify the cost—if only so he could close the door of his own coffin with no regrets.

His hand curled into a fist beneath his pillow.

"Do you remember how I like it?"  
  


* * *

  
A surge of _something_ hit Akira at that phrasing and he found himself blushing. "I, um, yes," he stumbled over his words, embarrassingly. "Yes, Sojiro just got more of those beans in the other day. I can make us a cup. A cup for each of us, that is." He cleared his throat. _Get it under control, Kurusu. Remember:_ **_not_ ** _a 13 year old._

"Come by around 8:30? I'll start it brewing for you." He couldn't suppress a fond smile. Just looking at Akechi through the phone was doing things to him. He'd missed seeing him at Leblanc. Every time he walked by the barstool Akechi favored, he thought of him. "I'll clean my room, too."

He stretched back out and yawned, his limbs cramped from how he'd folded himself in during that emotional conversation. The tiredness was hitting him now—it was late, just as he'd told Akechi when he'd started this adventure, and the post-orgasm haze was settling back over him now that his anxiety had waned. He didn't want to sleep though—he didn't want to hang up and spend another moment without Akechi's face.  
  
God, he was crushing _hard_.  
  


* * *

**  
_"I'll clean my room, too."_ **

Akechi snorted, the pocket-sized, sweet little moment summarily ruined; in its place slid in an atmosphere that was somehow more comfortable—one Akechi could probably get used to.

"Yes, be sure to get each and every dust bunny," Akechi said, laughter still coloring his voice, "I just got my shit dry-cleaned, so if you intend to waste what little money I have left, I'm afraid any potential relationship is already dead in the water."

How had this gone from an immature sex joke to... whatever _this_ was? It'd be whiplash-inducing if they hadn't spent nearly an hour on the phone now, and even then, it was still a bit overwhelming. Akechi was desperately trying to match the dictated pace, but his impulses did most of the work while the rational part of his mind struggled for air several miles behind.

Still though, even finding himself a little off-kilter, he was equally dedicated to "chasing the feeling" – is that how he'd phrased it? – by Akira's side. He'd been thrown back into this hellhole of a world against his wishes, and though that fact alone cast suspicion on Maruki's abilities and intent, nothing – _be it god or demon,_ the past echoed – could stop him from manifesting a few desires of his own.

"I'll be there at 8:30," he said after a moment of light, sexually-charged banter, " _Sharp._ You'd better be prepared."

**Author's Note:**

> Human!Morgana, crying in the bathroom: please let me sleep, it's been ten years


End file.
